


summer love on a gurney with a squeaky wheel

by gothfob



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Banter, Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Nurse AU, Smut, Srar era, patrick is a nurse, patrick takes care of him, pete is an idiot who gets a concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: Patrick is desperately trying to fight off the beginnings of a headache when a man is rolled into the waiting room on a gurney by a couple of paramedics. Patrick looks up at the sound of a squeaky wheel on the gurney, grating against the linoleum with every step.Patrick refrains from rolling his eyes, and decides he should remain professional and do his job, no matter how annoyed and ready to go home he is.He approaches the man on the gurney warily, cataloging what looks to be a bad head wound. There’s blood everywhere, on the man’s hands, his Metallica shirt, there’s even some dripping down his neck. The towel the paramedic is holding is soaked through with blood, and he seems exasperated but keeps the pressure against the wound nonetheless.or the one where Patrick is a nurse and Pete is his patient. Cue the insubordination, aka flirting.





	summer love on a gurney with a squeaky wheel

Patrick is irritated. He’s nearing the end of working a 48 hour shift, he’s tired, his scrubs are covered in other people’s bodily fluids, and he’d kill for a shower and a goddamn nap right about now. On top of that, he’s starving.

 

Don’t even get him started on the fact the hospital is overcrowded, making him feel hot and sweaty every time the doors open and let in the sweltering August heat.

 

Patrick loves his job, he really does. He likes helping sick people. But no one told him it would be this exhausting and frankly, sometimes tedious. Not to mention the flack he gets every day for being a male nurse. As if he’s a dying breed, or something.

 

Patrick is desperately trying to fight off the beginnings of a headache when a man is rolled into the waiting room on a gurney by a couple of paramedics. Patrick looks up at the sound of a squeaky wheel on the gurney, grating against the linoleum with every step.

 

Patrick refrains from rolling his eyes, and decides he should remain professional and do his job, no matter how annoyed and ready to go home he is.

 

He approaches the man on the gurney warily, cataloging what looks to be a bad head wound. There’s blood everywhere, on the man’s hands, his Metallica shirt, there’s even some dripping down his neck.

 

The towel the paramedic is holding is soaked through with blood, and he seems exasperated but keeps the pressure against the wound nonetheless.

 

“I’ll take it from here.” Patrick tells him, and the man gives a relieved sigh when Patrick takes the towel in a gloved hand and presses down. The paramedics make their way back out to their vehicle, and Patrick is left alone with his new patient.

 

“Sir, would you mind answering a few questions for me?” Patrick asks, because the man still seems relatively conscious.

 

“Anything for you, angel.” The man grins, his voice a little slurred. Patrick has to stop himself from leaving this man to bleed out in the waiting room.

 

Instead, he starts walking into a hospital room, dragging the gurney behind him until he can help the man sit on the bed.

 

“What’s your name?” Patrick inquires, taking a little flashlight out of his pocket to check the man’s eyes and instructing him to hold the towel in place.

 

“Pete Wentz.” The man responds easily enough, even if his speech is still a little stilted.

 

“Good.” Patrick nods. “What year is it?”

 

“2013.” Pete fires off quickly.

 

“Who is the President?”

 

“Obama.”

 

“Lastly, do you know where you are?”

 

Pete gives him the name and the address of the hospital without much trouble. Patrick hums affirmatively, sitting down on a rolling stool so he’s level with Pete.

 

“Great. I just need to take a look at the wound and see if you need stitches. Then I’ll have to clean it out and get a scan to check if you have a concussion or not and how bad it is.”

 

“I’m not gonna die, right?” Pete jokes, his smile bleary and his eyes half-lidded. It’s almost like he’s drunk. Patrick doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned.

 

“I highly doubt it. You are in very capable hands.” Patrick reassures him.

 

“Mm. Yes. Your hands seem quite…. _capable._ ” Pete replies, leering at him. Patrick has never had a patient leer at him, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to something like that.

 

Patrick decides not to answer, his face flushing with embarrassment. He scoots closer until he’s sitting between Pete’s legs and he can pry the towel off his head gently.

 

“Yeah. You’ll definitely need a few stitches. Hold the towel again for me. I need to get everything to clean this out and fix you up, good as new.” Patrick gets up to get all the items he needs, and a few minutes later he’s got his hands on Pete’s face again, trying to keep him still.

 

“It stings.” Pete whines, trying to jerk out of Patrick’s grip.

 

“Sorry. Head injuries tend to hurt, especially when they get cleaned. Take some deep breaths for me.” Patrick instructs. He finishes cleaning the wound, and then he takes out the needle to prepare for the sutures.

 

“I guess I’m lucky needles don’t bother me.” Pete jokes, looking down at his own tattooed arms.

 

“Stay still.” Patrick demands, but he trails his gaze over Pete’s necklace of thorns and down the ink on his arms anyways, because it’s awfully distracting.

 

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” Patrick blurts, without thinking it through. _Your arms are also really fucking hot,_ Patrick thinks, but he keeps that one to himself.

 

Pete looks pleased at the compliment, and he tries to waggle his eyebrows in invitation, but the effect is ruined when he gasps in pain.

 

“Maybe don’t do that.” Patrick smiles, trying to cover up his amusement. He stitches up the gash in Pete’s forehead meticulously, holding him by the chin.

 

During this process, he realizes Pete has really beautiful, jewel toned, amber eyes. They twinkle back at him with mischief. Patrick blushes and tries to avoid his gaze after that. He puts a bandage over the gash and makes sure it stays in place with medical tape.

 

“All done. But head wounds bleed more than any other injury, so you’ve lost a lot. I’d recommend you get the scan and then either stay overnight or have someone bring you home and keep an eye on you.” Patrick says, trying to keep his tone stern and professional. Like all things, Pete ruins it.

 

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but you’re fucking gorgeous. And I’d like whichever option involves spending more time with you.” Pete says boldy, his canines glinting in the light, sharp and dangerously sexy. Patrick can feel the blush traveling to his ears and the back of his neck now.

 

“Uh, thanks?” Patrick fumbles. “But my shift is almost over, so I won’t be here overnight. I’m going home in about an hour.” Patrick replies, checking his watch to confirm.

 

“Okay. Can you take me to get my scan before you leave?” Pete beams, his eyes full of hope and something deeper, richer. Patrick is afraid to call it what it really is. How can he say no to that?

 

“You got it, Pete.” Patrick tries to keep his tone casual, but he thinks a weird fondness is slipping through. Goddamn Pete Wentz for being charming.

 

Once the scan is finished, Patrick leads Pete back to his bed by the arm.

 

“You do have a concussion, but it’s nothing too bad. I’d just try to stay awake for a few more hours, stay hydrated, have someone with you.” Patrick says resolutely.

 

“My mom is out of town. I don’t really have anyone to stay with me for the night…” Pete trails off, his mouth in this manipulative pout and puppy dog eyes trained on Patrick’s face.

 

“Oh no. No, no, no, no.” Patrick protests. “I hardly even know you. I am not going to be your babysitter.” Patrick huffs, pulling the bloody gloves off his hands and tossing them in the trash before replacing them with new ones.

 

“Please. It’s a hell of a first date, isn’t it?” Pete laughs, raising an eyebrow with a very smug smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

 

“You’re awfully arrogant. What if I’m not even into guys?” Patrick fires back.

 

“Please. I can _see_ the way you’re looking at me. I’d recognize that look anywhere.” Pete grins, puffing out his chest.

 

“Yeah, okay, fine. You’re hot and you know it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take you home and play doctor.” Patrick rolls his eyes, his face turning progressively pinker with the statement.

 

“Come on, sugar. We can tell our grandchildren about this someday.” Pete chuckles, his eyes crinkling when he smiles. Fuck, Patrick can feel his control over the situation slipping. He stares at Pete, mouth gaping open in shock.

 

“You are- I, just- _unbelievable._ ” Patrick stutters, and is about ready to make his dramatic exit when Pete grabs a hold of his wrist. It feels like he’s being struck by lightning.

 

“I think I’m charming. And I have a feeling you think so too. So just take care of me for the night. If you wanna kick me out in the morning, you can.” Pete says it casually, like he isn’t asking to spend a night at Patrick’s house. He only met this man an hour ago. He can’t believe this is real life, honestly.

 

“Fine. It’s a deal. I’ll take you back to my place when my shift is over. But you’re sleeping on the couch.” Patrick says sternly, as if he hasn’t already caved to Pete’s demands.

 

“You can have me wherever you want me.” Pete grins wolfishly, his canines digging into his bottom lip.

 

Every word that comes out of his mouth seems to be laced with innuendo. Patrick is already exhausted and stressed out. He has no idea why he’s agreeing to this. He has a feeling Pete can talk his way into anything. It’s a talent.

 

“Whatever.” Patrick says, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “I have other patients to check on. Stay here and when I get back I’ll get you discharged.”

 

“I’ll be waiting, Tricky!” Pete calls after him. Patrick grimaces at the nickname, but he doesn’t look back. He shudders at what he is sure is a gleeful expression on Pete’s stupidly handsome face. _Don’t look at him, don’t sleep with him, don’t, don’t, don’t._

 

xxx

 

When Patrick is finally done with work and has Pete discharged, he feels like he might’ve entered another dimension. The only way he knows this is actually happening is the hospital bracelet on Pete’s wrist.

 

Patrick unlocks his car and helps Pete into the passenger side, making sure he doesn’t hit his head again.

 

Patrick isn’t a big fan of driving after such a long shift, but luckily his apartment isn’t that far from the hospital. They’ll be there in a few minutes.

 

“Patrick,” Pete says, his mouth sounding like it’s full of cotton. His head is resting against the window, his eyes slits, just barely open.

 

“Yes?” Patrick prompts.

 

“Patrick, I think I’m concussed.” Pete mumbles, sounding very displeased with the revelation.

 

“You are.” Patrick confirms, his lips upturning with amusement.

 

“Is it normal that I feel kind of….nauseous?” Pete asks. Now that he mentions it, Patrick thinks he might look a little green. Shit.

 

“Yes. But I swear to god, if you throw up in my car, I will kick your ass and drop you back off at the hospital to have someone fix your broken bones.” Patrick threatens. He looks longingly at his newly cleaned leather interior. He doesn’t think he’s overreacting, really.

 

“Geez. Relax, I’m not gonna vom all over your leather seats, Patty.” Pete murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Don’t call me that.” Patrick grumbles, pulling into his usual parking space in front of his apartment building.

 

He reluctantly lets Pete hold onto his arm for balance as they climb the stairs to Patrick’s floor. Patrick rummages through his pockets until he finds his key and turns it in the lock. The door swings open with a creak and Pete stumbles in after him.

 

“This is a nice place. Nurses must be paid well, huh?” Pete says, his eyes analyzing everything he sees.

 

Empty takeout containers, Penny’s dog bed, Patrick’s mismatched shoes and socks all over the floor. Paintings his mom had him hang up when he moved in, a glass coffee table, his guitars sitting in the corner of the living room, an overflowing bookshelf.

 

“Not well enough.” Patrick is grumpy. He’s tired and he really doesn’t want to have to take care of anyone but himself and his dog right now. But he made his bed, he might as well lie in it.

 

Before Pete can reply, Penny makes her presence known with a happy bark. Instead of running for Patrick’s ankles like she usually does, she charges at Pete before stopping abruptly at his feet.

 

Patrick kind of wants to laugh at how ridiculous she looks, a startled ball of fluff with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Pete crouches down to put his hand forward to let Penny smell him. She sniffs decisively, cocking her head as she considers him.

 

Penny pants, before she must deem Pete worthy, because she starts to lick his palm. Pete giggles, grinning down at her. He ends up sitting with his legs criss crossed and Penny on his lap. He pets her, scratching her ears and letting her lick his stubbled face.

 

Goddamn it, Patrick really knows how to pick ‘em. He groans internally, and takes off his shoes. He needs a shower, then dinner, and then to sleep blissfully for several hours.

 

“Make yourself at home. I’m gonna shower, and then I’ll be back to make us some dinner. Don’t fall asleep. In fact, feed Penny, would you? Her food is in the bottom kitchen cupboard. Thanks.” Patrick says, and then he’s gone with a turn of his heel and a gush of air.

 

Patrick relishes the hot water running down his back, making his muscles feel liquid, like he’s melting away all the tension from the day. He hums to himself as he rubs his skin clean, shampoos his hair and rinses it out.

 

Once he’s done, he feels much more alive again. Like he’s a real person and not a zombie.

 

He gets dressed in a loose grey cotton shirt and his favorite Batman pajama pants. He has no shame, not even in front of hot guys. He wants to be comfortable in his own home. He fixes his hair in the mirror, washes his face and puts on moisturizer. He enjoys the ritual of it, lets it bring him comfort.

 

Patrick walks out into the kitchen with bare feet, and he finds Pete sitting at the island scrolling through his phone while his other hand is propping up his chin. Pete looks up at him and smiles blearily.

 

“You have a really cute dog. Your personalities match.” Pete smirks.

 

“I resent that.” Patrick snorts, pulling takeout leftovers out of the fridge and closing the door with his hip.

 

“That wasn’t an insult. You’re both tiny, cute, feisty. I like that.” Pete laughs good naturedly.

 

“Be careful, I might make you stay on the couch for the rest of the night. No bathroom breaks.” Patrick deadpans.

 

“Nonsense. You like to look at me too much for that. I make dazzling company.” Pete beams and bats his lashes.

 

“Sure you do.” Patrick retorts, pulling out plates and forks. He splits the leftover chinese evenly between their plates and sticks one of them in the microwave.

 

“When you said you were going to make dinner, I assumed you meant actual cooking.” Pete comments lightly.

 

“I never said that. I’m a terrible cook, trust me. I’m doing you a favor.” Patrick sighs.

 

“I’d be happy to cook you dinner sometime. All you have to do is ask.” Pete says it too nonchalantly for it not to have significance.

 

“Yeah.” Patrick meets his hot whiskey gaze. “I’d like that.”

 

xxx

 

Once they’ve finished dinner, Patrick makes up the couch nicely for Pete with pillows and throw blankets. He leaves a glass of water and a couple of painkillers on the coffee table and bids Pete a good night.

 

Patrick lays awake, despite how badly his eyes want to shut. His body is exhausted but his mind is racing. He can’t stop thinking about Pete being on his couch, just a few strides down the hallway.

 

Why did he agree to let him stay? Patrick thinks he has a soft spot for pretty boys with amber eyes. That and his general nurturing sensibilities. He likes taking care of people. It’s part of the job.

 

A soft knock on the door interrupts Patrick’s thoughts. Penny was fast asleep by his feet, but she wakes up at the sound and jumps off the bed and runs towards the door.

 

“Come in!” Patrick calls out. He pulls the covers up to his chin and tries to keep his resolve. The door opens with a soft creak, and Penny runs out into the hallway, her paws skittering across the hardwood.

 

Pete stands in his door frame, outlined in the soft glow of the kitchen light. He is all golden, shirtless and covered in ink. His hair is falling in his eyes, and he looks a little lost. Patrick bites his lip hard and waits for what Pete is going to say.

 

“Patrick,” Pete slurs a little hazily. “I can’t sleep. I’m concussed.” Pete pouts at him. Patrick feels his heart beating like a kick drum in his chest.

 

“Did you drink the water and take the meds I gave you?” Patrick asks gently. Pete nods, and pads his way into the room with bare feet, only clad in boxers. Pete is unashamed, as if he has nothing to hide. He’s beautiful. Patrick begins to salivate just looking at him.

 

“M’ head still hurts like a motherfucker.” Pete whines, standing at the foot of the bed. Against Patrick’s better judgement, he gestures for Pete to get in the bed beside him. Pete obliges quickly enough, climbing under the covers and settling his head on the edge of Patrick’s pillow.

 

“Let me know if you feel nauseous and you need help to the bathroom, okay?” Patrick says softly. Pete blinks up at him, so close Patrick can feel his hot breath against his neck.

 

“Yeah. Thanks for takin’ care of me, Lunchbox.” Pete murmurs. Patrick raises an eyebrow at the nickname, but decides to change the subject.

 

“You know, you never told me how you managed to get that head injury.” Patrick contemplates him, taking in his half lidded eyes and the dreamy smile on his face.

 

“I was being an idiot, like usual.” Pete snorts. “I jumped off my roof with a patio umbrella. Surprised I didn’t break anything. But it seems like my luck is finally changing.” Pete beams at him.

 

Patrick can’t help but laugh at the image that creates in his mind. Pete is the most ridiculous person he has ever met, he’s sure of it.

 

“You’re so fucking weird.” Patrick giggles, wiping the tears from his eyes.

 

“Good weird or bad weird?” Pete asks, sounding a little petulant.

 

“Good weird. You’re funny. And sweet. Even if you’re kind of annoying and have bad judgement sometimes.” Patrick tells him earnestly.

 

“I’ll take it. That was mostly compliments. You _like_ me.” Pete teases, sounding a lot more coherent now.

 

Patrick narrows his eyes suspiciously. He wonders if this was just a ploy so that Pete could get into his bed. He wouldn’t put it past him.

 

“Did you just play up your concussion so you could worm your way into my bed?” Patrick asks. Pete avoids looking at him, his eyes shifty and his mouth forming a guilty grimace.

 

“Maybe?” Pete laughs nervously. “But it’s only been like, a few hours. I am most definitely still concussed.” Pete defends himself.

 

“Don’t you think head injuries might fuck with your decision making skills? Because I really don’t wanna sleep with you if you’re gonna wake up tomorrow morning and regret it. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you already just by you being in my bed right now.” Patrick retorts.

 

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping with you, first of all. Secondly, _I’m_ the one who managed to get myself in your bed. I promise you, concussion or not, I would most definitely regret it if I didn’t at least try to get with you.” Pete grins at him, all wolfish and predatory.

 

“I’m flattered.” Patrick huffs, blushing furiously in the lamp light. “But I’m not supposed to have sex with my patients.” Patrick says weakly.

 

“I love making you blush.” Pete laughs, and it sounds oddly a lot like a braying donkey. “And technically, I’m not your patient anymore. You discharged me, remember?” Pete smirks, raising the wrist with the hospital bracelet up to Patrick’s face.

 

“That’s….” Patrick blinks, cocking his head in consideration. “A very good point. You’re right.”

 

“I’m always right!” Pete pumps his fist in the air in victory.

 

“You are a complete and utter dork.” Patrick deadpans.

 

“Yeah. But you wanna sleep with me, so. Ha.” Pete sticks his tongue out at Patrick.

 

“You know, I haven’t slept in like 50 hours. Maybe _I’m_ not in my right mind and I’ll regret this tomorrow.” Patrick threatens half-heartedly.

 

“I don’t believe that. I think you like me enough to not sleep for another hour. Besides, we can sleep in afterwards, right? You have tomorrow off.” Pete says with an air of confidence.

 

“Yeah. I do.” Patrick admits. “Okay. Fine. We get one orgasm each and then we’re going to sleep, ‘kay?” Patrick demands.

 

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Pete salutes him, and Patrick doesn’t know whether to laugh or to knee him in the balls. “Do we get to cuddle after?” Pete says as an afterthought.

 

“Of course. What do you think I am, some kind of monster?” Patrick asks, a hand to his chest in mock horror.

 

Pete giggles, and then he’s pulling down the covers so he can straddle Patrick. He smiles down at him, and before Patrick can even prepare himself, Pete is kissing him.

 

Patrick ends up putting his hands in Pete’s jet dark hair, chemically straightened and surprisingly soft. Their tongues explore each other’s mouths, and the kiss is broken when Pete bites down on Patrick’s lush bottom lip and pulls at it with his teeth.

 

They’re both panting, rubbing up against each other, just the cotton of Patrick’s pajama pants and Pete’s boxers in the way.

 

Pete sits up, giving Patrick an incredible view of his heaving chest, covered in a sheen of sweat and ink. Pete is sliding his boxers down his thighs, before he kicks them off onto the floor.

 

He sits on top of Patrick in all his naked glory, and Patrick’s eyes drag down his stomach and stop at where a big tattoo lies, right between his hip bones as if it’s framing his dick. He can’t tell exactly what the design is, but it is both hideous and ridiculously hot at the same time. Patrick traces it with his thumb and licks his lips.

 

His eyes settle on Pete’s dick, thick and red with blood, sticking up straight against his navel. Patrick desperately wants it in his mouth. He gestures for Pete to roll over, and then Patrick manages to get off his pajama pants and underwear in one fell swoop. Patrick crawls between Pete’s legs, settling between them on his belly.

 

He parts Pete’s thighs with his hands, and settles them on Pete’s sharp hip bones. Patrick looks up at Pete through his lashes, his eyes glinting with desire before he finally goes down on Pete. He starts slow, just giving kitten licks to the crown of Pete’s dick.

 

Pete groans from above him, his eyes avidly watching Patrick’s obscene mouth taking in his cock.

 

“Your mouth was fucking _made_ for this.” Pete whimpers, reaching down to trace when Patrick’s lips part around his dick. Patrick hums and takes in another couple inches, swirling his tongue just so. He starts to bob his head when he picks up the pace, enjoying the feeling of Pete on his tongue, all musky and boy.

 

Patrick sucks Pete’s dick like it’s a sport and he’s trying to win a gold medal. When Pete starts to babble above him and moan with every touch, Patrick knows he’s getting close.

 

Pete’s dick twitches dangerously against his cheek, and Patrick decides to pull out his favorite party trick. Patrick pulls back to take a breath and then he slides back down until he’s deepthroating Pete’s cock.

 

Pete makes a choking noise above him, half pleasure and half sob.

 

“I didn’t know you could do that. Holy shit. What the fuck. Patrick!” Pete shrieks, trying to thrust his hips up into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick holds him down, and swallows around the head of Pete’s dick.

 

Pete comes with a scream, his dick spurting down Patrick’s throat. Patrick swallows it all greedily. He licks Pete clean, and then he pulls off so he can crawl up Pete’s body and reach his mouth.

 

He kisses Pete, open mouthed and wet, and Pete can taste himself on Patrick’s tongue. Pete groans, and pulls back so he can focus on Patrick’s face when he trails his hand down to get a grip on Patrick’s cock.

 

Patrick is already on edge, he doesn’t get off on anything more than getting someone else off. Pete is so beautiful when he comes.

 

Pete strokes Patrick’s dick, twisting his wrist near the head and making Patrick sing for him. Patrick is humping desperately against Pete’s hand and his belly, getting precome all over Pete’s tawny skin.

 

“You’re so pretty.” Pete breathes, his face one of awe as he watches Patrick’s face, red and sweaty as he bites his own lip in an attempt to hold in a lot of curse words and praises.

 

“Fucking hell.” Patrick growls, his back arching as he feels his balls draw up tight to his body and then he’s coming with a shout of Pete’s name, painting Pete’s palm and belly with pearlescent streaks. The aftershocks shake through him and Patrick’s body aches from the overstimulation.

 

Pete lets go of his dick and licks his palm clean. Patrick’s cock makes a valiant effort at trying to reroute blood from his brain back to itself, but he’s gonna need at least ten minutes before he can go again.

 

As mind blowing and incredible as that sex was, Patrick is bone tired and just wants to cuddle until he falls asleep.

 

Reluctantly, Patrick leaves the bed to get a washcloth and clean up Pete’s stomach. He sets it on the nightstand to deal with in the morning, and then he pulls the covers up over them both. Pete curls up against his back and wraps an arm around Patrick’s waist.

 

“Wow. That was amazing. _You’re_ amazing.” Pete says reverently, into the patch of skin behind his ear. Patrick smiles into his pillow.

 

“That’s the best sex I’ve had in a long time.” Patrick admits. “I’m glad you’re here.” Patrick’s eyes are starting to droop closed with exhaustion.

 

“I’m glad I’m here too, Trick. Sweet dreams.” Pete whispers it softly into the back of Patrick’s neck.

 

Patrick, content and radiating a happy afterglow, falls asleep in Pete’s arms. He dreams of golden skin and dark hair and a blinding white smile.

 

When he wakes up, Pete is still pressed against his back, his chin tucked over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick grins in the early morning light and holds Pete’s hands in his. He thinks this is the start of something beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all enjoy this!! it's just a little drabble that's been in the back of my mind for ages. grey's anatomy finally inspired me to write it, but im sorry for any wildly inaccurate medical info. i did my best, but alas, this is just fiction. 
> 
> title from lake effect kid by fob.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob :)


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